It Never Ends
by Zenith Aquilla
Summary: Demigods are a rare species, mostly due to the whole 'constantly being hunted by monsters' bit. Most never reach adulthood. But on the rare chance they do, and they find another who's suffered as they have, something called love happens. And when it strikes, they do something just as selfish as their godly parents. They bring someone else into their mess.


I trailed after my friend into church, black mini skirt swirling around my hips. Being Jewish I felt completely alienated, but I had been dragged in by said friend. I could just imagine it.

_I smell a Jew. Let's kill it!_

Shivering despite myself, I earned myself an odd look from my friend.

"You cool?" she tilted her head.

"I'm cool," I grinned, "Just give me a sec."

She nodded, following her parents through the huge wooden doors. I had barely taken a step before a rough hand grabbed me around the waist, tugging me into a separate hall.

Still held from behind, I gazed warily at the half dozen boys around me. They were all sixteen or seventeen, and each clothed in black. They all radiated trouble.

"Y'know," I hesitated, "This is a church. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do anything… bad."

The tall blonde leading their little party stepped forward, a chuckle on his lips, "Bad? And who defines… _bad_?" he grinned mockingly.

I took to glaring at him, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. His grin fell suddenly into a matching scowl. Reaching deep into his pocket, he procured a sort of amulet. The center was distinguished by a large, green gemstone. Gold edged the jewel, making the whole thing roughly the size of my hand.

"Hey, what's that-" I never finished, due to a flash of golden light bright enough to make any Christian fall to their knees. In an instant everything had changed. While everyone was still standing as they had seconds ago, the scenery was drastically different.

In less than a second we had gone from marble pews to endless blue. The yacht's deck rocked haphazardly under our feet, causing me to stumble. Of course I didn't go down, thanks to whoever was still holding me from behind. Another stumble factor was the whole church to yacht process. Not only was I still working on _how_, but the experience left me fuzzy.

"Like that?" blondie kneeled to get on my level, before smirking at my dazed expression, "Always did have that effect. You should have seen Grover…" he chuckled.

I shook my shoulders, trying to free myself to no avail. He cupped my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him, "You probably have some questions. Firstly, if I tell my good friend Christopher to let go of you, do you promise not to try anything?"

I had the distinct feeling he was mocking me. In response I continued to glare steadily. After a moment of no response he released my chin roughly, getting to his feet, "If you're going to be difficult, we can just throw you in the brig. I honestly could care less."

A beat.

"We are family, you know."

"Pardon the interruption, but my mother failed to mention any psychotic, kidnapping cousins," I smiled sweetly.

"Actually, by all technicalities, I'm your uncle," he raised an eyebrow.

"Gee, I did a family tree project in third grade, but I don't seem to recall you anywhere on it," I tilted my head in exaggerated thought.

"Your parents and mine are siblings. Therefore," he pointed to himself, "Uncle," as if explaining to a particularly small child.

"Who are your parents? Maybe I'll remember the name," I rolled my eyes.

"My mom- my mom's name isn't important," his eyes darkened suddenly, "But you might actually recognize my father's name. Hermes."

I was getting ready to once again question his sanity, when everything that happened this morning kind of rebounded, "What _are_ you?"

"No, no, no, that's the wrong question. The question of the hour, what are you?" he looked into my eyes as if trying to solve a riddle, "It's incredibly rare for any of us to reach adulthood, _especially_ one of the big three, but somehow two managed to survive long enough to start a family."

"W-Who are… us? You said one of us?" my voice wavered, simply because this sounded all too familiar.

He leaned forward, putting his mouth millimeters away from my ear before whispering, "Demigods."

I flinched at the word, memories bursting through my head like artillery. The alley. Jared. Those… things.

He emitted a low chuckle at my discomfort, "I see you know the term."

A glare served as my answer.

"Obviously you don't plan on being helpful," he raised an eyebrow, "Throw her in the brig."

"Luke, don't- don't we need to wait for her to be claimed?" one of the boys tried, obviously intimidated by blondie.

"She won't be claimed. Her parents already were. We know who she is," he spat, "Do I need to repeat myself?"

That's how I wound up in the brig. Of a yacht. Do yachts have brigs? Anyway. I sat cross legged on the ground glancing at the porthole every so often.

I used to love ships. Little ships, big ships, any ship. Now? Not so much. I have no earthly idea how long I was down there. Time seemed different without any watches or even light to go by. Banging my head against the wall I moaned, closing my eyes. My respite ended suddenly when the door flung open with a bang loud enough for me to flinch.

"So," the boy grinned, a lopsided grin placed cockily on his face, "Your what the fuss's all about."

"I suppose," I kept my voice even.

"What is the difference? The only one Luke's ever gone after like that is Jackson, and, that's sort of obvious. I've heard a few things but-" he began, but I immediately cut him off.

"Things? What sort of _things_ have you heard?" I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes.

"Oh, y'know. Two demigodly parents. One's a big three. But know what I don't understand? How it all worked. What I figured, is that you have some sort of destiny. A prophecy maybe. That's how a daughter of Poisidon lived long enough to have you. With a son of Apollo nonetheless. It's astounding," he sniggered.

"Sorry, you seem to know quite a lot about me, and I never even caught your name," I crossed my arms.

"And against all odds, you got not one, but _both_ of their abilities!" he acted like he hadn't even heard me, "Usually all powers die out by the third generation, but oh no. You're special Emily Greyson. You are _very_ special," he took a step back.

"It's Chris by the way. Chris Rodriguez," he glanced backwards before trotting out. A commotion echoed from the hall immediately after he left. I stood abruptly, wondering how to defend myself from a cage.

We had company.


End file.
